Cabin Pressure: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
by Kerkerian-Horizon
Summary: Martin Crieff falls ill shortly before Christmas. Thanks to a sad-looking Labrador and other circumstances, Arthur and Douglas happily break the law to come to his aid. Cabin Pressure fic, also featuring Carolyn, Herc and Snoopadoop and lots of friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Spoilers for the whole series.

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 1  
**

**o o o  
**

Martin closed the door to his room behind him and slowly walked over to his bed. He was so tired that he couldn´t think straight anymore; Carolyn had had her crew on a tight schedule for most of December, and he had only just returned from Taiwan. He wasn´t even sure which day it was, but the Christmas break must have started already, for the house had been dark and empty when he had returned. Abandoned. The students had gone home for the holidays. It was cold, too; the janitor probably had turned down the heating, assuming that no one was going to be there anyway.

Martin sank onto his bed, removing his tie and shoes with hands that were trembling with fatigue, but keeping on his coat, not caring whether it was going to crease. He closed his burning eyes and lay back, but despite his exhaustion, his mind wouldn´t let him rest.

He had had one day off, one blessed day in all of December, on which he had had a moving job. Instead of using the time to rest and regain some of his energy, or doing his laundry or write some Christmas cards- well, write_ one_ Christmas card, for there were no other people to send cards to except his mother, he had to be grateful to get a job on precisely that day.

And what a job it had been. The woman whose stuff he had moved seemed to own nothing but exceptionally heavy things. It had been sleeting that day, which hadn´t made the whole task easier. And then his van had broken down, causing him to arrive at his customer´s new address not only frozen and soaked but also much later than expected; he could still hear her shrill voice ringing through his head, calling him unprofessional (thank God Douglas hadn´t heard that) and refusing to pay the full price.

And now it was close to Christmas and he barely had any money left for this month. He didn´t have to work for MJN again until the 28th, which was a blessing but also worrisome; at least flying meant some decent food (as long as Arthur didn´t cook it), warmth, and company.

He ran his hand over his face, trying to will away any thoughts about how Christmas used to be and how, ever since he had gone against his father´s will and become a pilot, it had changed. It was as though it had ceased to exist. He didn´t talk to his siblings any longer, or rather they wouldn´t talk to him, and his mum had become someone who he merely exchanged the occasional card with.

She had been the only one who´d tried to understand Martin, but now Simon and Caitlin, who had never taken their youngest brother too seriously, had children of their own. Martin´s mother was afraid that she´d be cut off from her grandchildren if she spoke up, therefore she didn´t, it was a simple as that. Martin never expected that she´d do this to him, but on the other hand, she´d never been strong or able to fight for herself.

Maybe he should be glad, he told himself, because he didn´t have any money for Christmas presents anyway.

But somehow, gladness was not what came to his mind. He felt lonely and miserable and for once couldn´t euphemise it.

He was still worrying about money when he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Arthur Shappey looked into the mirror and wondered whether one day he would pull off a convincing Santa. Maybe when he was much older and had more wrinkles, and maybe even white hair. He grimaced; he really hoped he´d have white hair, not the dull greyish tone his father was sporting.

He was pulled out of these thoughts when Carolyn knocked on the bathroom door: "Arthur."

"Yes, mum?"

"Herc´s going to pick me up in five minutes. I put the shopping list on the table."

"Brilliant! Thanks, mum."

"Don´t forget to walk Snoopadoog."

"No, mum, I won´t."

"And you will be all right?"

"Yes, mum, don´t worry."

"Good boy. Well, see you on Christmas Eve."

"Have fun!"

After she had gone, Arthur turned back to the mirror one last time: "All right, Arthur Shappey- off to Christmas shopping!"

He was very excited about being in charge of the Christmas supplies; Carolyn and Herc were going on a pre-Christmas getaway for two days, to a secret location at that. It had been an early Christmas present from Herc and meant that Arthur had to do the shopping and preparations, which he didn´t mind. On the contrary, he was feeling very grown-up and only a little nervous about doing something wrong. But he did have a list, so he was going to be fine; as long as he didn´t lose the slip of paper, everything was going to go according to plan.

* * *

Martin awoke bleary-eyed and momentarily confused as to where he was, and why he still was in his clothes.

He slowly sat up when it all came back to him; he was freezing, and he was starving. And he needed a shower, to thaw his cold limbs. Stupid of him to fall asleep on the bed without a blanket. "Just goes to show, Crieff," he murmured.

Sneezing, he went into the bathroom; the water didn´t get more than lukewarm however, since the heating had been turned down, therefore the shower didn´t do much to warm him up.

Martin hurriedly dried himself off and got dressed. At least he´d have a hot tea. He clutched the mug with both hands, grateful for the warmth, while he pondered what to do. He could of course phone the janitor, but he was behind with the rent again and didn´t wish to draw attention to himself. So that was no option. He couldn´t buy a fan heater because he couldn´t afford it. He couldn´t camp out at the airfield because Carolyn had the keys both to the office and Gerti.

He was stuck here. Pride prevented him from borrowing money from anyone, and besides, he didn´t know when he´d be able to pay it back.

He went back to his room and took a warm sweater out of his wardrobe, which he put on over his thinner one. A brief assessment of his financial situation confirmed that he had indeed only about 40 pounds left. One look at the calendar confirmed that it was December 22nd. He´d need some money for gas, which left him with 10 pounds if he calculated in some emergency cash.

He took a long time at ASDA, in the end buying one loaf of toast, some oat flakes and milk. He considered some tangerines but decided against them; he wouldn´t die if he didn´t get any vitamins in the next few days.

He lingered in front of the medical section for a while; his throat was a little sore and he felt as though he had a cold coming on, wondering whether he could prevent it from getting worse. He finally took one packet of Ibuprofen and went to the cash desk.

At home, he took care of his laundry; after he had put the load into the machine, he went back to his room, where he looked around. A bed, a wardrobe, a shelf filled with books, a small table, a chair. Not much to show for 34, he thought to himself. He didn´t have any Christmas decorations either, not even one candle. He should have bought one, a tiny voice in his mind said. For a little festivity, at least. But another, more insistent voice objected: _one candle isn´t going to change anything, and besides- Christmas is something I can´t afford anyway_.

Martin nodded, staring at the empty table for a while. He took a thin folder from his shelf to update his removal business accountancy, and began to work on the annual financial statement; by the time he was done, the laundry was done as well. He put it on a clothes rack and made himself another tea and some toast.

Then, for want of anything better to do and because he really didn´t feel too well, he crawled back into bed, pulling the duvet over his head.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, as well as the next two. He had woken up in the night with an aching back, aching limbs and a head which felt as though it was going to explode soon, and had only fallen back asleep in the early morning. The cold which had sneaked up on him had grown into a fully blown one, and he only wanted to sleep. He was vaguely aware that his phone was ringing at one point, but he was also feeling very hot and tired and didn´t have the energy to get up anyway.

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**

**Author´s notes: **Hey all, thank you for reading and hopefully you´ve had a merry Christmas!

I´m aware that Martin´s probably not _that_ bad off, and from what people have said about the coming 4th season, his mum and siblings very likely aren´t anywhere near the way I imagined them so far (how brilliant is it that Prunella Scales plays his mum?), but for now I´ll stick to my head canon, which for some reason always includes a little whump when concerning our favourite captain. **  
**

Furthermore, this fic is going to be several chapters long, most of which have already been written. The title of course refers to Arthur´s singing in 'Molokai'.

Please leave some feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Spoilers for the whole series.

Thanks to _Pholo_ for the review, and to the rest of you for reading!

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 2  
**

**o o o**

Arthur hung up and disappointedly looked at his phone, willing Martin to ring back. Maybe he was out doing some last-minute shopping, or he was on his way to his family. They hadn´t talked about their plans for Christmas, it somehow hadn´t come up.

Chewing on his lip, Arthur searched through his directory under 'D'- there really were only two entries, Dirk the groundsman and Douglas Richardson, whom Arthur called now. Douglas picked up after the second ring: "Arthur! I believe we've already exchanged Season´s Greetings, so all that´s left to say is ´hello´."

"Hello, Douglas, "Arthur said, and the unusual tenseness in his voice had Douglas listen up: "What´s wrong?"

"Maybe there isn´t anything wrong," Arthur began, "though it could well be. That depends, really. I was just wondering if you knew what Martin´s doing this Christmas."

"No, I don´t. In fact, we haven´t talked much about Christmas at all, which admittedly seems strange in hindsight."

"Yeah, well- I tried to call Martin on his phone but he doesn´t pick it up. And he always picks up, even when he´s busy with something."

"That´s indeed unusual," Douglas said, pensively. Being the stickler that he was, Martin made a point of taking his phone everywhere, partially because he was afraid he might lose out on a job opportunity.

"You could drive by his house," Douglas suggested after a moment of silence, "see if his van´s there."

"Brilliant!" Arthur considerably perked up at this, "will do! Thank you, Douglas!"

"Anytime. Oh, and Arthur- keep me posted, will you?"

* * *

They rang off. Douglas put his phone down, frowning. Maybe Martin had for once forgotten to charge the batteries. Or he had accidentally left the phone at home when he had gone to visit his family. There was very likely going to be a simple explanation.

_No_, a small but nagging voice in his head said, _you know Martin. He doesn´t forget things like that. And last you heard, he wasn´t too keen on meeting his family at all._

_-But it´s Christmas._

_-So?_

Douglas thought about the last flight back from Taiwan. Martin had been pale and quiet, but Douglas had put it down to exhaustion and the usual van-related worries. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now that he looked at it however, Douglas felt vaguely ashamed of himself. He had begun to take Martin´s problems as normal, which in all fairness they were, sort of, because they weren´t going to change soon.

Martin still wasn´t paid by Carolyn and still ran 'Icarus Removals' with the same decrepit old van he had inherited from his father. Unless he won the lottery one day or MJN had an unexpected windfall, Martin would have to deal with being rather poor and mostly unpaid.

But how could Douglas take it for commonplace, he now asked himself. He had come to consider Martin his friend, despite his pompousness; he knew that it was part of what kept the man going. If he was living on low standards, he at least needed to hold his pride as high as he could.

The question remained how Douglas could watch his friend struggle like that, taking it for granted that nothing was going to change anyway?

He looked at his phone, hoping that Arthur was going to ring again, telling him that everything was all right.

When Arthur did ring him ten minutes later, it didn´t exactly set his mind at ease: "The van´s here," Arthur said, "I rang the doorbell, but no one answered."

"Tell you what," Douglas said, "I´ll try to ring Martin in an hour. If he doesn´t answer, I´ll drive by his house."

"Oh Douglas, would you really do that?"

"Of course. I don´t have any plans for today anyway. My daughter´s gotten sick, so I don´t get to spend Christmas with her after all."

"I´m sorry," Arthur said. "You must be very disappointed."

"A little, yes." He wouldn´t even admit to himself just how much. "So, Arthur- why did you try to call Martin in the first place?"

"Oh, I was doing the shopping the other day and there was a woman who was collecting money for the RSPCA, and she had a poster of a sad-looking dog. And I walked 'round all day wondering who the dog was reminding me of. You know, of course I thought of Snoopadoop first because she is a dog as well, but she looks nothing like the dog on the picture. He was more of a Labrador with big ears and smooth fur, but Snoopadog- well, you know what she looks like. And then I realized that the dog reminded me of Martin."

"Why?"

"Because he looked just as sad lately, so I tried to call him. To cheer him up, you know."

The worst part of this was that Douglas knew exactly what his friend meant. "You know what, Arthur," he said after another moment of stunned silence, "I´ll come by. Stay where you are, I´ll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

The house seemed abandoned when they approached the front door, and no one responded to the doorbell. Douglas looked at the van, then turned back to Arthur: "Do you know how to open a door with a credit card?"

"No!"

"Too bad, neither do I."

Arthur seemed torn between excitement and fear: "Douglas, we can´t just break in."

"But maybe Martin´s injured."

"Right..."

They went around the house and tried their luck with the back door, to no avail.

"We can either phone the janitor, who will not thank us to be called out on Christmas Eve, or we can break this small glass panel to get in. Look at the house, it will hardly make a difference." Douglas looked at Arthur, who was chewing on his lip again.

After a few minutes of weighing the pros and cons (Arthur), they finally broke the glass (Douglas). The house was cold and silent, and Douglas didn´t really expect to find anyone in there, but he was glad to be occupied, to distract himself from thinking about his daughter too much.

It was hard to believe that Martin really lived here; the whole house was run-down, and though it was relatively clean and not too messy, it clearly wasn´t made for permanent residence. Three years, fine, but nine? How did he stand it?

Slowly, they climbed the steep stairs up to Martin´s attic room. Arthur knocked before opening the door, which wasn´t locked. Up there the air seemed even colder, the roof probably wasn´t insulated well.

The room was as dingy as the rest of the house, if meticulously tidy. There were a shelf full of books and a small table, but as soon as Douglas´ gaze fell on the bed, he momentarily forgot about them. Someone was lying in said bed, and upon closer inspection, it sure enough turned out to be Martin.

* * *

Martin had been asleep; when he came to, he wished he hadn´t, for he felt as though someone had used him as a punching ball. His whole body was aching, but his head was the worst. There was an unpleasant ringing in his ears, his nose was clogged and his face hurt. He was still feeling uncomfortably hot and had sweated a lot; his shirt and pyjama pants clung to his body. He shivered in the cold air where he wasn´t covered by his blanket.

He didn´t know what had woken him; maybe the cough which had developed during the night. He had woken up a few times to drink a bit of water, and each time had been unable to find a remotely comfortable sleeping position afterwards; his body had never felt so alien before.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then he recognized his First Officer.

"Douglas," he croaked, prompting another cough. "H-how- what´re you-"

"Better not speak," Douglas said, obviously worried. "Martin, for how long have you been this sick?"

"Don´t know... which day´s it?" His eyes were bright with fever, and he was ghastly pale. He flinched when Douglas pressed the back of his hand against Martin´s temple, but the other man´s skin was wonderfully cool, bringing a little relief.

"You´re burning up," Douglas murmured, then, realizing he had yet to answer Martin´s questions, made an effort to pull himself together.

Arthur was quicker than him, however: "It´s Christmas Eve," he said, but apart from that, he was uncharacteristically quiet: all the cheer had gone from him as he beheld his ill friend.

"Yesterday, I think..." Martin coughed, but before Douglas or Arthur could say anything else, their friend´s already ashen face turned rather green, and it seemed that the coughing all of a sudden was turning into retching.

Douglas shook his head in concern, while looking around for anything which might suffice as a bucket: Martin really didn´t do anything by half.

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**

Please leave some feedback.**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Spoilers for the whole series.

Thanks to _Feste the Fool _and_ Sarah Kent-Duke _for the reviews, and to the rest of you for reading!

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 3  
**

**o o o**

Arthur, who had so far been standing as still as a deer caught in the headlights, sprang into action, grabbed a bin from under the table and thrust it right under Martin´s heaving, shaking form.

It was all Douglas could do to keep the ill man from keeling over; gently yet with a firm grip he held Martin´s upper body and kept him in a remotely upright position. He could feel Martin´s ribcage through his damp t-shirt, the tremor in his body, and felt very bad for his friend.

When the bout was over, Martin sagged. He had expelled the meagre contents of his stomach and bile, and Arthur quickly went to rinse the bin, which luckily had only held a bit of paper.

Douglas eased Martin back onto his pillow and helped him drink some water; there had been an half-empty glass on the nightstand.

"Thank you," Martin´s voice was hoarse.

"You´re welcome," Douglas replied. "I´m so sorry, Martin."

"What´re you doing here?" Martin coughed again, as though the words were catching in his throat.

"We couldn´t get you on the phone, and when we saw that the van was here, we broke in to check on you."

If Martin hadn´t been so dazed by his fever, he would have been touched by his friends´ care; as it was, he was mainly embarrassed that they had witnessed such an unsavoury moment.

"I´ll be fine, just need to rest," he murmured.

Douglas shook his head: "You can´t stay here, Martin. It´s too cold and you obviously are very ill. You shouldn´t be on your own."

Martin´s head hurt and he was still feeling nauseous. He didn´t feel up to making any decisions, and besides, he didn´t know where to go.

"You´re coming with us," Douglas said firmly before Martin could answer, taking the choice off his friend, "you can stay in my guestroom."

Martin weakly shook his head: "Can´t, Douglas... it´s Christmas."

"Exactly. Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"But Jessie-"

"-isn´t coming over because she´s fallen ill as well. Which is quite the coincidence, don´t you think?"

Arthur came back in, putting the clean bin next to the bed. "Are you feeling any better, Skip?" he asked quietly.

Martin tried to reassure him but ended up coughing again.

Douglas caught Arthur´s gaze and nearly imperceptibly shook his head no. "We´re going to take Martin with us," he said in an undertone. "I´m not leaving him here."

He really was rather appalled by the shoddiness of Martin´s lodgings; he hadn´t expected it to be this bad.

Loudly, he said: "Let´s get you dressed, Martin, and we´ll pack a few of your things if you don´t mind."

Martin didn´t want to leave his warm bed, and he was aware that he had sweated so much he was smelling badly. "I´d rather stay here," he murmured. "It´s too cold outside."

"But Skip, in here it´s also cold," Arthur piped up, "and you´ll be all alone if you stay, on Christmas!"

Martin didn´t respond, he just huddled deeper into his blanket.

"Martin, please," Douglas spoke more insistently now. "We can as well call an ambulance, seeing the state you´re in."

Douglas, Martin realized even with his fever-addled mind, was capable of doing exactly that. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position: "Fine. But I need to wash first," he croaked stubbornly.

Arthur looked as though he was about to say something, but Douglas silenced him with a look; it was definitely advisable to have Martin put on something fresh and, more importantly, dry, before he went outside. The last thing he needed was to catch an additional chill, and apart from that, he´d simply feel better.

"Okay. Arthur- can you help Martin? I´ll pack some of his clothes in the meantime. I assume everything´s in the wardrobe?"

Martin nodded: "Thanks," he said feebly, realizing that there was no point in protesting. Arthur helped him to get up, seemingly oblivious to the smell of sickness. But that was Arthur for you: he might not be the smartest mind under the sun, but he was loyal, and his will to help whomever needed him was genuine. And he was patient.

Martin barely managed to get his legs under him and wouldn´t have been able to walk unsupported for the world was spinning around him, but Arthur rather casually slung one of the captain´s arms around his shoulder to be able to hold him up, and gripped Martin firmly around the midriff.

"That´s it, Skip, one foot after the other. You´re doing great," he said encouragingly, but Douglas perceived that Arthur was actually forcing himself to appear his cheerful self in order to set his charge at ease. He clearly was very worried.

In the bathroom, Arthur made Martin sit down on the edge of the tub where he could lean against the shower cubicle, then he wetted a flannel, put soap on it and gave it to Martin, who was slowly getting out of his shirt. After putting a towel next to where Martin was sitting, together with a change of clothes Douglas had quickly dug out, Arthur left the room to give his friend some privacy.

If Martin had been up to it, he´d have strongly objected to being treated like someone from a nursery home; he was feeling so dizzy and was trembling so hard however that he was glad to have made it to the bathroom at all. He was sure Douglas would make fun of him because of this later, but presently he didn´t care. Undressing, washing and redressing took up all of his remaining energy, and when he was finished, he couldn´t get up on his own.

Arthur, who had been waiting right outside the bathroom door, hurried in when Martin called him; it took three attempts to get Martin to and keep him up on his feet, and the moment he was upright, the nausea became so intense that he began retching again.

After a few minutes of dry heaving, the bout was over and left the captain trembling on the floor; Arthur, who couldn´t hold him any longer, partly because he was afraid Martin might black out, partly because he was shaking himself, gently propped his friend up against the wall: "Skip. Skip, look at me?" He was slightly panicked, though just as before, he tried not to show it.

Martin, whose eyes were streaming from the bodily effort, breathed out shudderingly: "´s okay," he mumbled.

"I´ll be right back, Skip." Arthur slowly got up from the crouched position he had taken, "I´ll go and get Douglas to help."

Martin leaned his forehead against the tub, grateful for the coldness; he didn´t want Arthur and Douglas to see him like this. He knew there was no need to feel as ashamed as he did, yet he didn´t think he could get anywhere on his own with the way he was feeling, let alone manage the stairs. All he wanted was to be back in bed, but at least the vomiting had stopped. He closed his eyes, wishing he would wake up and find out it all had only been a dream.

At one point, Douglas was talking to him, but Martin couldn´t be bothered to fully wake up. He was too tired altogether, and the heat around his temples was too oppressive.

Then there was additional warmth, a blanket which was being wrapped around him, and he was being pulled to his feet again. It was easier this time, four strong hands were holding him. There was nausea again, but not as bad as before. Somehow, he walked, and it was a relief to know that he couldn´t fall.

He was vaguely aware of sitting in a car, of motion, of having to walk again. And then he was finally allowed to lie down. People were talking to him and once he felt a prick in his arm, but it didn´t really hurt and he was only glad to be allowed to drift off to sleep again.

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**

Please leave some feedback.**  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Possible spoilers for the whole series.

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 4  
**

**o o o**

**Updated today to celebrate the new season which starts tonight! Squee!  
**

**o  
**

Douglas stood leaning against the doorframe to his guestroom, watching Martin sleep. He was still white-faced and looked wretched, but he´d hopefully be feeling better soon. Seeing him so ill and dazed was scary, and Douglas wouldn´t have expected it to affect him so strongly.

Arthur had been even more distraught, but the doctor whom Douglas had called seemed to have reassured him. It had been an old pal from university, back in the days when Douglas had been a medical student. They had kept contact on a fairly regular basis, which had come in handy on this very day. Geoffrey had been there within half an hour, and it was as Douglas had guessed: Martin had the flu, a severe case, not simply a bad cold.

"The vomiting has very likely been stemming from his inner ear being affected by the infection," Geoffrey had explained to Douglas and an anxious Arthur, "which is causing vertigo, which in turn leads to nausea."

He had given Martin an injection for the nausea and written a prescription for antibiotics, antipyretics and cough drops. The rest was common knowledge: make sure he keeps warm, drinks a lot of liquids, eats something. Keep an eye on his temperature.

"Be careful that he doesn´t take the pills on an empty stomach. And if he isn´t getting any better within the next two days, call me again," Geoffrey said when he left. "Merry Christmas."

Arthur had offered to go and get the prescriptions as well as some stuff from the shops; Douglas hadn´t done the shopping yet when his ex-wife called him about his daugther, and he hadn´t bothered to afterwards. But now that he had a task, things were looking up. At least he wasn´t going to be alone, now that Helena had moved in with her Tai Chi teacher.

It was getting dark outside; Douglas went into the room and turned on the lamp on the nightstand, then he sat down on the edge of the bed. He wondered to which extent Martin would be terrified later on, embarrassed by a situation he hadn´t had any control over. Douglas hoped that his friend would be able to accept the whole matter as a friendly turn which had nothing to do with their professional relationship.

His thoughts turned to Jessie once more, and from her to Mary Ann, who had been his first wife; of course he had disappointed her numerous times, and he sort of understood why she kept her distance. But he didn´t see why she didn´t trust him to sufficiently care for his daughter; she had a cold, nothing as dire as Martin´s illness from what Mary Ann had told him.

Jessie was only supposed to have stayed for two bloody nights, he would certainly have managed. He missed her; usually, he was very good at hiding it, at suppressing the thought that his little girl was growing up without him being a daily presence in her life. On the days on which he didn´t manage too well, he barricaded himself behind an armour of sarcasm. It wasn´t good, but it was better than drinking his worries away. He never wanted to go back to that, since he knew that he would very likely never see Jessie again if he relapsed into alcoholism.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to Martin. A few strands of hair were plastered to his clammy forehead, and he occasionally coughed in his sleep. Apart from that, he lay still, his features tense and as ashen as before.

Douglas pulled the duvet up a little further and tucked it more thoroughly around his friend´s bony shoulders, then he got up and went to get a cloth and a bit of water; his mother had used to cool his forehead when he had been ill, and he still remembered how good it felt.

* * *

Arthur was standing in the queue at Sainsbury´s, surrounded by last-minute shoppers. He once more checked the list Douglas had given him, making sure he hadn´t forgotten anything.

He tried not to think about Martin, or at least not about how they had found him. Skip had looked so terribly sick, Arthur´s heart clenched at the notion that he had been alone like that and would still be, hadn´t he and Douglas interfered. And he was quite glad that Douglas had broken the window.

He flinched when his phone rang; it was his mother.

"We are back," she said, "It´s a quarter to six, where are you?"

"I´m at Sainsbury´s," Arthur replied, trying not to speak too loud so as not to disturb the people around him.

"What_- today_? Why didn´t you go yesterday, or on the day before, as you said?"

"I did! I got everything you wrote on the list, but something happened."

Carolyn hesitated only minutely: "Why, what do you mean?"

Arthur pushed the trolley a little further: "You know how I went shopping the other day? Well, there was a woman who was collecting money for the-"

Carolyn interrupted him: "Arthur dear, a few less details."

Arthur paused; he had been taught to begin at the beginning if he told someone something, and it was more difficult to cut down to the important bits if people didn´t know the circumstances.

But on the other hand, Mum knew Martin and where he lived and that he didn´t get paid- of course she knew_ that_, so he really _could_ make it short: "Douglas and I broke into Martin´s house because the sad dog reminded me of him- Skip, not Douglas- and he was alone and very ill. The doctor said if he doesn´t get better in the next two days, we might need to call him again."

"Er." Carolyn tried to make sense of it. "Martin is ill and Douglas is with him?"

"Yes."

"And you are out shopping for him?"

"For Douglas, yes, because he hasn´t done any shopping yet, because Jessie´s not coming. She´s ill as well, you see."

"Wait, wait. Why are you shopping for _Douglas _then?"

Arthur subdued a sigh; usually, his mum was very good at understanding him, but she didn´t seem to catch up. "Because Martin couldn´t stay alone and now he is at Douglas´ house and Douglas hasn´t done the shopping."

"Oh! I see."

"Mum, I really need to call off now, I´ll be at the till next."

"When are you coming home?"

"I don´t know, I´ll call you if it´s getting late."

"What, so you won´t be home for dinner tonight? On Christmas Eve?"

Arthur felt bad about it, but he was too worried about Martin: "I´m sorry, Mum, I know it´s tradition, but Martin´s really ill," he said, "he couldn´t even stand without help, and he was kind of... what´s the word with 'l' if someone´s slow and unresponsive?"

"Lethargic?"

"Yes, that. I´d rather stay with him, see if I can help."

Carolyn relented; it did sound serious enough after all. "All right. Call me if you need anything. And say hello to the other two, will you? Especially Martin."

"Thanks, I will- bye Mum!"

After she had rung off, Carolyn shook her head; who´d have thought. She hadn´t expected anything less from Arthur, but Douglas... who´d have thought indeed.

* * *

When Arthur arrived at Douglas´ house, Douglas was still sitting with Martin, who had been completely unresponsive even when his friend had applied the cold cloth to his forehead. Douglas was glad about Arthur´s presence; not that he wasn´t able to cope, but it was nice to have help.

_Which speaks in favour of families_, he thought, sadly. _Not being alone in a situation like this does have quite the appeal, after all_.

Arthur looked flustered. "How is he doing?" he asked, peering into the guestroom.

"Not terribly good," Douglas said quietly, getting to his feet. "Come on, I´ll show you to the kitchen."

Arthur carefully put the bags down on the counter:"My mum just called. She says hello."

"Oh, are they back?" Douglas kept his tone neutral, and Arthur being Arthur didn´t notice that he was biting his tongue not to say something unfriendly. Now that Herc seemed to be a rather inherent part in Carolyn´s – and therefore also Arthur´s – life, the first officer tried not to let it on that it nettled him. What exactly, he couldn´t say, it just did.

Silently, they took the groceries out of the bags and Douglas began to put them away. Arthur had indeed managed not to forget anything, which was a plus and a first.

"Martin needs to eat something, he can´t take the medicine on an empty stomach," Douglas murmured while he scanned the package inserts of the pills. "Okay, these first and those half an hour after each meal. I think for now we can make the exception not to wait that long."

"Do you think he´ll keep something down at all?" Arthur asked, still unusually subdued.

"I should hope so; he´s got a shot for it, after all."

Douglas mixed some Ginger Ale with water and opened a packet of lightly salted crackers which he put on a tray, together with the medication: "I´ll go and wake Martin. You look like you could do with some food as well, Arthur. What do you say I´ll whip us something up once I´m done here?"

"Yeah, I suppose that´d be good," Arthur consented, downcast.

"You can make yourself useful then and chop up some peppers and an onion. Cutting board's over there in the drawer, knife in the drawer above it."

"Yeah..."

Douglas had an inkling where this was coming from, but he postponed dealing with it till later; first, he had to take care of their patient.

* * *

Martin didn´t wake up easily; he was confused and needed a moment to find his bearings.

"You´re in my house," Douglas said, "a doctor saw you and confirmed that you have the flu."

Martin blinked: "A doctor?" His voice was very hoarse. Douglas regretted having had to wake him, but on the other hand, Martin would very likely go back to sleep in an instant, and his shirt was already slightly damp again, he´d be better off once he had ingested some food and the appropriate medicine.

"An old friend of mine," Douglas explained, "known him for thirty years."

"Thank you," Martin croaked, "I´ll pay you back for everything..."

"Stop worrying about that for now. You need to eat a little, so you can take something for the infection and the fever," Douglas said.

"Can´t eat," Martin groaned, because he was still feeling nauseous.

"Let´s just give it a try," Douglas said gently, "maybe you´re also nauseous because your stomach is empty."

Martin doubted that, but contradicting Douglas seemed too much effort, and he really was keen on taking whichever pills Douglas had for him if only they were going to make him better; the Ibuprofen didn´t seem to have helped. He just hoped that the other pills hadn´t been too expensive.

"Can you sit up?" Douglas asked.

Martin managed to push himself into a remotely upright position, but he was shaking all over. Douglas sat down next to him and handed him the glass; Martin took a few tentative sips at first, but then he drank the rest as well, realizing how thirsty he was. He ate a few crackers, and when after ten minutes his stomach hadn´t protested and the nausea had indeed lessened slightly, Douglas got up to get some more water, and handed him the pills.

Martin was utterly relieved to be able to lie down again afterwards.

Douglas stayed with him for a while longer, wanting to make sure that his friend was all right for the moment. If Martin minded, he didn´t let it on. His blood-shot eyes closed almost of their own account, and he didn´t react when Douglas dabbed at his forehead with the cold cloth once more.

Soon, his breathing evened out, only interrupted by the occasional cough.

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**

**Author´s notes: **I have made the names of Douglas´first wife and his daughter up. So far they haven't been mentioned in the series, but hey! Tonight's the night! I'm so excited!

Thank you all for reading and especially to those who dropped a few words. It's rather disappointing to see how many people read a story but don't comment on it, so every single review is very much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Possible spoilers for the whole series.

Thank you all for reading and giving feedback, I highly appreciate it! After "Wokingham" last week, it´s clear that Martin´s family is not horrible at all (at least not his mum - LOVED her!), so in this regard, this story can be considered AU.

**o**

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 5  
**

**o o o**

**o**

When Douglas returned to the kitchen a little later, Arthur had cut the vegetables as instructed and was sitting at the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched.

Douglas set the tray down: "Arthur?"

Arthur tried to smile but failed miserably; he wouldn´t have fooled Douglas anyway.

"He´ll be fine," Douglas said. "I know you´re worried, as am I. But the medicine will help him, along with sleep and some proper meals. He´ll be back on his feet in no time."

"I know," Arthur said, not looking convinced, "that´s not... I mean... I didn´t know it was _this_ bad."

"What was?"

"How he lives. I know Mum can´t pay him, but... it´s horrible, Douglas. How does he do it?"

"Yes," Douglas conceded tiredly, "I´ve been thinking the same. I always thought he was exaggerating a little in order to maybe change Carolyn´s mind. But we´ve been stupid, Arthur."

"We? You mean, _you_ as well?"

"It pains me to say it, but yes, absolutely." Douglas sighed. "Me as well. I mean, just one proper look at him tells you all you need to know, really." If you care enough, his mind added sardonically.

"Really?"

"Of course. He´s not a picky eater and usually finishes everything he gets, but he´s still thin as a stick. Furthermore, all his clothes are rather worn. The cardigan he puts on in the portacabin when it´s cold? It´s been mended several times, and his shoes must be paper thin from all the polishing. And I guess he cuts his own hair, too. Which remains largely unnoticed because it´s curly, mind you, but still goes to show-"

Arthur couldn´t contain himself any longer: "And you got all that from the way he looks? Wow, Douglas! You´re like Miss Marple again!"

"Thank you," Douglas said, reminding himself that he was dealing with Arthur and therefore, to be patient: "If anything, I´d rather be Hercule Poirot."

"Right!" Arthur grinned, but then he remembered the initial topic of their conversation again: "So what can we do about it?" he asked, unhappily. "Do you think _you_ could change Mum´s mind, Douglas?"

"I doubt that," Douglas said, mindful of what Carolyn had told him about her financial situation.

"Let´s worry about it later though," he added, "I´m hungry now. Aren´t you?"

"Yes. A little." Arthur dropped his chin into his hand: "It doesn´t feel like Christmas, does it?"

Boy, he really was the opposite of cheery tonight.

"No," Douglas consented hesitantly, "not really. Maybe if we put a bit of tinsel on the tree-"

"You´ve got a _tree_?" Arthur sat up straight, his voice hitching.

"Well, yes. It´s the only thing I got rather early, since I knew Jessie was coming and usually, the best ones are sold out by the time Christmas rolls around."

"Where is it?"

"In the living room. It´s through that archway." Douglas motioned with his head. He hadn´t bothered to decorate the tree, but maybe it would indeed put Arthur in a better mood.

The younger man went to have a look: "Douglas, it´s brilliant!"

Douglas smiled: "Help yourself, the tinsel and stuff is in those boxes over there."

* * *

Half an hour later, Douglas was putting the finishing touches on the vegetable-and-chicken stew he had made while Arthur had transformed the fir into a Christmas tree. He had opened every box like a child opening presents, his obvious delight not only audible but also visible. He looked delirious with excitement and kept singing carols under his breath.

Douglas lit a fire in the wood-burning stove, and they ate their meal in the living room. The tree did add a festive touch, Douglas had to admit, even though the whole affair was still far from how he´d imagined it. At least he wasn´t alone now, and there was worse company than Arthur. True, the conversation lacked a certain depth, but it was so much better than battling the urge to drive to the nearest garage and buy some Stolichnaya.

Of course, there was one bottle of very fine 25-years-old Talisker on the top shelf of the pantry, but that one was reserved for emergencies of a different kind. And Douglas didn´t feel the need for a drink tonight, which was a blessing: having company made all the difference.

For pudding, Douglas made hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it (mainly for Arthur´s sake), then they sat down on the couch with it, admiring the tree.

"I wish it would snow," Arthur said longingly, "you need snow on Christmas to make it feel right, don´t you think?"

Douglas raised one eyebrow: "I got the impression that it´s all the traditions which are putting you in the festive mood. I distinctly remember that there were a stocking and a fruitcake involved."

"Yes, but that was when we were flying to Hawaii! Now we´re at home, and it´s cold outside, so there should be snow. And robins. There are always robins on the postcards."

"Yeah," Douglas chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while, then Douglas went to look in on Martin.

He was sleeping quietly, half lying on his side; he coughed a few times in his sleep, but didn´t wake up from it.

* * *

"Douglas," Arthur asked when they were putting their plates into the dishwasher a while later, "how _much_ later are we going to worry about Martin´s problems again?"

Douglas paused: "Why?"

Arthur shrugged: "It´s just that... it´s Christmas, and imagine if we hadn´t gone looking for him. He´d still be alone in that cold attic room. I was thinking... Mum and I have got a really big house, you see, and it´s warm and comfortable and maybe he could come live with us?"

Even though Douglas was touched by Arthur´s concern for their friend, he was certain that the idea of having Martin moving in with them would meet the same resistance from Carolyn as paying him.

"I´m not sure he´d want that," he said, deliberately slow as if he had to think about it for a moment, "you know how awfully proud Martin is. He doesn´t want to appear incapable of looking after himself."

Arthur shrugged again: "Yeah... maybe you´re right." He began to chew on his lip.

Douglas, who was fairly sure what was coming next, inwardly counted down: 3- 2- 1-

"Douglas," Arthur continued accordingly, "couldn´t Martin live here with you then?"

The older man shrugged: "I can offer it to him, of course, but I think it´d be the same thing. He is going to be appalled enough by all this as it is."

It took him another ten minutes to make Arthur understand _why_ Martin was very likely going to be tremendously ashamed about the current situation.

"I´ll tell him he doesn´t have to be," Arthur eventually said, confidently. "I mean, he´s seen _me_ after I´ve had peach Schnaps, after all."

This had Douglas smile: "True."

Arthur rubbed his hands: "Right... I´m sorry, but I think I should go. It´s after ten, so... Mum´s probably waiting for me. Unless you need me to help-" He seemed doubtful as to whether he should really leave.

Douglas shook his head in order to reassure him: "Thank you, Arthur. You´ve been... well, brilliant, but I´m sure Martin is going to sleep through the night. I´ll manage."

"Okay."

* * *

Arthur left shortly after, promising to come back on the following morning.

Douglas looked in on his ill friend once more, but everything was as quiet as before, so he went back into the living room and turned the telly on. Without Arthur, the house seemed a lot emptier all of a sudden. Douglas sometimes wished he had a dog; he had a dog when he was a boy and still remembered it fondly.

Due to the nature of his job though, he was away too frequently, and often also rather long, and unlike Carolyn, he didn´t have neighbours who´d be willling to pet-sit. Apart from the fact that Douglas wouldn´t want the poor animal to spend more time with strangers than with him. So he´d have to get used to being alone.

He was halfway through the Blackadder Christmas Carol when he thought he heard something. He listened attentively, turning off the sound; there it was again, coming from the direction of the guest room. Swiftly, Douglas got to his feet and went to investigate.

The bed was empty. After a moment of comprehension, Douglas entered the room and found Martin on the floor. He had evidently thrown up again and was trying to push himself up on his arms in order to sit up.

"Martin," Douglas hurriedly knelt down next to him, grabbing him under the shoulders and gently supporting him until he was remotely upright, feebly hugging himself.

"´m sorry, Douglas," he slurred, his voice choked. "I tried to get up-"

"It´s okay," Douglas said, as soothingly as possible, ignoring the sour smell. Martin was shaking badly; there were vomit stains on his shirt, and he was completely soaked with sweat again. He was leaning against Douglas heavily, clearly unable to keep himself up.

"No, ´s not-" Martin protested, but Douglas cut him off: "Are you still nauseous?"

"Not 's much as before," the younger man ground out, which sounded very much like a yes to his friend.

"Okay, let´s get you to the bathroom." Douglas helped Martin to his feet and just as before, rather carried than supported him. In the small bathroom, he eased him down onto the floor so that he could lean against the tub of the shower, which was conveniently near the toilet, just in case.

They cleaned him up a bit and changed his shirt; they had to pause twice because Martin began retching again, though it was mostly bile which came out. Douglas suspected that this had nothing to do with the initial nausea which had been triggered by the ear, but simply meant that Martin´s stomach was still upset from earlier.

Douglas tried to feed him water with a little bit of Ginger Ale, but it took several attempts until the nausea abated and anything stayed down, meaning that they spent a long time in the bathroom, sitting next to each other between the bouts. Martin was coughing occasionally and shivering violently from exhaustion and the contractions which came with the vomiting, and Douglas kept talking to him quietly, trying to distract him. He supported him after each bout, holding his shoulders so that he wouldn´t sway and get dizzy again, and made him drink in frequent intervals.

Martin was feeling absolutely wretched, but he didn´t want to take up Douglas´ offer to go back to bed and use a bucket; not when Douglas would have to clean it out every time. He could get through this; at least there weren´t any students to share the bathroom with.

He shivered more severely because he was getting cold. The source of warmth at his side which was Douglas momentarily disappeared, and when it returned, Douglas had brought a blanket which he put around his friend´s shoulders.

* * *

Martin lost track of time a little, but at one point, he could feel a warm hand on his arm: "Nothing happened for a while now," Douglas said gently, "you really should get back into bed, Martin."

He complied this time, too knackered to do otherwise, and apart from that, the nausea had indeed lessened a little. It was a relief to lie down again, even propped up against a few pillows as he was, and close his eyes. On top of everything, his upper body now ached from the cramps, he felt sore and bruised, and his throat was feeling even worse than before. He shuddered a few times, the tremors being part of the aftermath. He couldn´t remember having ever felt so bad.

He lay still, trying not to think, but it was impossible. He could hear Douglas moving about the small room quietly while he cleaned up the puddle of vomit from earlier. Martin felt the shame burning on his cheeks, there was nothing he could do about it. He would probably have to find a new job after this. He should have stayed at home, really.

The thought would have made him cringe, had he had the strength; anywhere was better than the attic room. Anywhere, even if it meant being at Douglas´ mercy. At least the older man was saving it for later, and had been nothing but kind and lenient so far, at least as much as Martin could remember. Well, their relationship _had_ changed over the years. And maybe Douglas had felt lonely on Christmas...

With these thoughts in his dazed mind, Martin doze off. He was startled awake again when the mattress dipped.

"I´m sorry," Douglas said softly, "you can go back to sleep in a sec. But you should drink some more first."

Martin forced his eyes to open; Douglas had found a straw, which made it much easier to drink. He managed half the glass, then feebly pushed the other´s hand away: "Thank you," he murmured. "Sorry ´bout all this."

Douglas, who was eyeing him sympathetically, shrugged: "I´m sure you didn´t_ choose_ to get sick." He put the glass on the nightstand: "Try to sleep, Martin. I´ll be here in case it gets worse again."

With a small groan, Martin closed his eyes: "If it does, please kill me," he muttered.

Douglas, who for once couldn´t think of a witty reply which would have been appropriate, found Martin´s hand and squeezed it: "I will."

Martin sighed, but didn´t open his eyes again.

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Cabin Pressure_ and am not making any profit by writing about it.

**Warning**: Possible spoilers for the whole series.

Thank you all so much for reading and giving feedback, I highly appreciate it!

Furthermore, I am still in denial about the ending last night- let´s all press thumbs for season 5!

**o**

**o o o**

**Cabin Pressure:**

**o**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 6  
**

**o o o**

**o**

Martin´s rest lasted roughly half an hour, then the cough woke him again. It was painful because of his now very sore throat, and his chest hurt. He was not entirely lucid, but he did turn onto his side when Douglas suggested it, hoping it might bring a little relief.

* * *

When Arthur rang the doorbell the next morning, a little after eleven, he was greeted with the sight of a very dishevelled, tired looking First Officer.

"Merry Christmas!" Arthur said, a little worriedly, "I hope I didn't wake you up, Douglas?"

Douglas beckoned him in: "Merry Christmas. No,don´t worry, you didn't. Jessie did when she called me a few minutes ago."

"Oh, did she? Brilliant! How is she?"

"She certainly sounds like she´s got a clogged nose, but she says she´s doing much better already."

"That´s good! But Douglas- you look all ruffly!"

Douglas ran a hand through his hair:"Well, when I said _I´m sure Martin´s going to sleep through the night_ I was sadly mistaken." He yawned. "Sorry. Anyway, neither of us has gotten much sleep."

"Oh, Douglas. I´m so sorry!" Arthur´s face fell.

"It´s okay," Douglas yawned again as he led the way to the kitchen, "he´s sleeping now, and I can take a nap later on."

"Yeah, yeah, you can!" Arthur perked up a little again, "I´m here now, I can take care of Martin. And Mum´s going to come over too!"

"What? Really?"

"Yes. She´s a bit worried, you see."

"I... see." If anyone would have told Douglas the same five years ago, he´d probably have laughed, but things had changed. Carolyn was more lenient towards Martin, it seemed, ever since she had found out about the way he lived. Or rather, the way he struggled, most of the time anyway.

"Want some coffee, Arthur?"

"No, thanks! I just had a ginormous breakfast! But can I go and see how Skip´s doing?"

"Sure," Douglas yawned again, "try not to wake him, though."

"I´ll be really quiet," Arthur promised, and sneaked out. Douglas looked at his retreating back and smiled.

Martin was still lying on his side when Arthur peeked into the room, barely visible from the door. Arthur tiptoed around the bed and paused; Skip looked awful, ashen-faced and haggard and very exhausted. The fever didn´t seem to be completely gone yet, the tell-tale red hues on his cheeks were still there.

He seemed to be sleeping soundly however, which had to be good, because Mum always said that sleep was the best medicine. He didn´t know why Martin hadn´t gotten much sleep during the night, but at least he was catching up on it now.

Douglas was making himself some scrambled eggs on toast when Arthur came back.

"I didn´t wake him," he said. "He looks worse than yesterday, though."

"Which is no surprise, really," Douglas murmured, sitting down, "considering what he´s been through." He told Arthur what had transpired during the night, leaving out some of the details.

Arthur sat with his chin in his hand, looking worried again: "So the shot didn´t work, then?"

Douglas shook his head: "I think it was a different kind of nausea." Cautiously, he explained what he meant, and Arthur finally nodded understandingly. "Poor Skip," he said, "one kind of nausea really is enough, if you ask me."

* * *

Carolyn stood in her kitchen, chopping up vegetables. Herc, who had been reading the newspaper, came in and looked over her shoulder: "What are you doing?"

Carolyn´s tone was clipped:"I´m making soup."

"Soup."

"Yes, soup! Broth, vegetables, tiny noodles in the shape of letters."

"Er-_ why_ are you making soup? We're going to _Le Rouet_ later, if you remember."

"I know! It´s for Martin."

"Oh. Really? I see. Well, that´s- very nice of you." After a moment´s hesitation, he began to turn up his sleeves: "Need a hand?"

Carolyn turned round: "You want to help me cut the vegetables? Why?"

Herc sighed, a long-suffering expression on his face: "Because I´d like to. No hidden agenda."

"Fine." Carolyn nodded at the potatoes: "You can start peeling these."

"Aye, sir." Herc muttered under his breath, grinning as he received a shove against the shoulder.

* * *

Douglas had finished his breakfast and was sleepily listening to Arthur, who was excitedly telling him about the Christmas morning he´d had so far, and about the presents which had been exchanged.

"And Herc gave me a new hat- it´s much nicer than my old hat, because it looks like a proper one. I mean, I liked my old hat, but Mum always made fun of me because of it, and now she can´t because it´s from Herc. And Herc_ really_ liked the DVD Box set I gave him. It´s the complete first two seasons of 'Shaun the Sheep', you know? I wouldn´t even have known what to get him if Mum hadn´t tipped me off about it!"

Douglas, who vividly remembered Finn McCool the third, wisely didn´t comment on it. He got up instead: "Would you mind if I quickly went to have a shower?"

"No, not at all!" Arthur beamed at him: "Take your time, Douglas. If Martin needs anything, I´ll help him."

* * *

After Douglas had gone upstairs, Arthur sneaked back to Martin´s room. He had brought something for his friend which he now placed on top of the pillows. Then he stood silently for a moment.

After he had convinced himself that Martin did look as okay as possible in the circumstances, he slowly backed away again. Unfortunately, he wasn´t very familiar with the room yet, and therefore it came as a complete surprise when he collided with a chest of drawers.

The noise had Martin waking with a start. He was clearly disoriented at first, and pushed himself up on his arms: "What- Arthur?" he asked, his voice hoarse and very low.

"Yeah, it´s me, Skip, don´t you worry," Arthur hurriedly said, surreptitiously rubbing his back, "that was just me being clumsy, there are no burglars or anything."

Martin blinked: "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I´ll probably have a bruise, but then I´ve had worse- just like that time when I fell off the donkey in the circus. Though coming to think of it- that wasn´t actually so bad."

"Where´s Douglas?" Martin asked feebly, unable to process Arthur´s story at that moment.

"Oh, he´s having a shower. I was just checking on you, I´m so sorry to wake you!"

"It´s all right," Martin muttered, easing himself back down because sitting up didn´t feel too good, and his arms were trembling even from this little exertion.

Arthur cocked his head: "I´m _really _sorry," he repeated, "is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," Martin murmured, closing his eyes and coughing a few times. "Just... sleep."

Arthur nodded: "Okay," he whispered, "Mum always says sleep is the best medicine. Sleep well! Oh, and Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Martin murmured, already on the verge of dozing off again.

Arthur looked at him and for some reason was suddenly very glad that his mum was going to come over.

* * *

"You really shouldn´t have," Douglas said by way of thanking Arthur for his Christmas present, eyeing the pair of socks the younger man had gotten him: they were striped in two different shades of blue and had cheery little aeroplanes on them, which even had smiling faces.

"Oh, but they are brilliant," Arthur said, "I think that one looks a bit like Gerti!"

"If she had a face, maybe," Douglas agreed. He wasn´t in the mood to argue, and anyway, it was the thought which counted, a notion which applied to Arthur rather often.

They were sitting in the living room again, since Arthur had wanted to see the tree in the daylight and also put Douglas´ and Martin´s presents under it.

"Would you like me to put yours under the tree as well?" Douglas asked.

Arthur beamed: "Oh yes, that would be brilliant!"

"Would it now, then I´ll do it. Just wait a moment while I go and get it."

Arthur was humming carols under his breath when Douglas returned a moment later, and his eyes widened when he saw the rather large package.

"Can I open it now?" he asked.

"Of course, right after I´ve put it under the tree," Douglas said. "There. Enjoy."

Arthur practically fell onto his knees and tore the paper off the present within seconds: "Wow! Douglas! A Lego Space Shuttle! How did you know!"

Douglas grinned:"I saw you ogling it at the airport in Tokyo," he replied, "and there was a friend who owed me a favour."

"Douglas, it´s brilliant! Thank you so much!"

The doorbell rang while Arthur was still admiring the pictures on the box. Douglas opened the front door to find himself face to face with a large pot. "Merry Christmas," it said, with Carolyn´s voice.

"Merry Christmas," Douglas held the door open wide, "do come in. I believe your friends, Sergeant Spoon and Mrs Ladle, are already in the kitchen."

"Har har," Carolyn said, "I do forget that my pilots do not even stop being funny at Christmas." She turned round to Douglas: "How´s my other pilot doing, by the way?"

"He had a bit of a rough night," Douglas said, "he´s sleeping now. Should I take that?" He pointed at the pot.

Carolyn shook her head: "No, thank you. It´s still warm, which is a blessing considering how cold it is today. It took forever to get the car sufficiently heated up."

"Didn´t Herc want to come?" Douglas asked as they went to the kitchen.

"No, for some reason, he didn´t fancy a tête-a-tête with my First Officer."

"Too bad. I´m sure _my_ tête would have won."

Carolyn ignored him:"What do you mean, rough night?" she asked, setting the pot down on the worktop.

"He spent a good deal of it in the bathroom, throwing up for a few hours," Douglas said, "followed by severe coughing well into the early morning. The fever´s not gone completely either. He´s rather worse for wear, really."

"Oh dear." Carolyn didn´t try to hide her concern. "Have you made him drink enough, Douglas?"

"Yes, I did. At least I tried. He couldn´t keep anything down at first."

"Did you apply VapoRub or poultices for the cough?"

"Er- I think Martin will be sufficiently appalled by all of this as it is, he most certainly wouldn´t appreciate it if I wrapped his chest in warm towels with questionable contents. And I´ve never heard of a cough poultice anyway."

"No, I expect not. Well, I´ll see about that."

"Carolyn- you´re not seriously going to suggest to Martin that he try poultices?"

"Why not?"

"The poor boy´s been through enough already."

"And he´ll be glad if the cough improves."

"He-" Douglas broke off. He knew Carolyn well enough by now to realize that she was pulling his leg.

"Shame on you, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey," he said, "joking at the expense of poor Martin."

But he grinned.

"Seriously, Douglas," Carolyn then said, "do you have anything to relieve the sore throat?"

"Well, I´ve got Strepsils, and chamomile tea," he said.

"Good, make some then, and put it in a thermos."

"Aye, Sir," Douglas muttered, putting the kettle on.

"Where is Martin?" Carolyn asked.

"I´ll show you." He led the way to the guestroom.

* * *

Carolyn was very quiet as she beheld Martin, who hadn´t moved much since Arthur had woken him, and looked dead to the world.

"We have to wake him up," she whispered eventually, "he needs to eat and drink something, so that he can take the medicine which the doctor´s prescribed him."

"You think so?" Douglas asked, doubtfully. "Shouldn´t we let him sleep?"

"I know I keep saying that sleep´s the best medicine. And he can sleep as long he wants afterwards," Carolyn argued, "but he needs to refuel a little. Look at him, he´s white as a sheet. He needs to get rid of the fever, Douglas, and take the antibiotics."

That was true, Douglas conceded. "But what if still can´t keep anything down? I don´t want to put him through another bout of... you know."

Carolyn chewed on her lip, lifting her chin determinedly: "If that should happen, we´ll call that doctor friend of yours. And you know what? I don´t give a damn whether it´s Christmas or not."

**o o o**

**To Be Continued**

**o o o**

Additional disclaimer and note: I neither own "Strepsils","VapoRub" nor Lego. There are two versions of the Lego Space Shuttle, and the one I had in mind for Arthur is the more adult version, called "Lego 10213 Shuttle Adventure" in case you want to google it (links don´t work here, sorry).


End file.
